Why Spinoza’s Ethics were not Given at Sinai

Does Judaism really need animal sacrifices? Would it not be better off without them? After all, the sacrificial cult seems to compromise Judaism. What does a highly ethical religion have to do with the collecting of blood in vessels and the burning of animal limbs on an altar?

No doubt Judaism should be sacrifice-free. Yet it is not.

So, is the offering of sacrifices Jewish, or not? The answer is an unequivocal yes. It is Jewish, but it doesn’t really belong to Judaism.

If Judaism had had the chance, it would have dropped the entire institution of sacrifices in the blink of an eye. Better yet, it would have had no part of it to begin with. How much more beautiful the Torah would be without sacrifices! How wonderful it would be if a good part of SeferVayikra were removed from the biblical text; or had never been there in the first place.

So what are these sacrifices doing there?

The Torah doesn’t really represent Judaism. Not in its ideal form. Not in all its glory.

There are actually two kinds of Judaism. There is the Judaism of today and the Judaism of tomorrow. There is realistic Judaism and idyllic Judaism. What fills the gap between them is the world of Halacha. Halacha is the balancing act between the doable and the ideal; between approximate means and absolute ends; between what is and what ought to be. It is a great mediator, and a call for hope.

The Judaism of today is a concession to human weakness, but at the same time a belief in the greatness and strength of humankind. It calls upon people to do whatever is in their power to climb as high as possible, but warns them not to overstep and fall into the abyss. Judaism asks of human to be magnificent beings, but never angels – because to be too much is to be less than.

But Judaism also believes that people may one day reach the point where what was impossible might be possible. What ought to be may someday become reality. It is that gap that Halacha tries to fill. Indeed, a mediator.

Many people believe that concessions to human weaknesses are incompatible with the divine will, which should not be compromised by human shortcomings.

But Judaism thinks otherwise.

Judaism is amused by Baruch Spinoza’s ideal world, in which passions and human desires have no place, since they upset the philosopher’s “good life” of amor intellectualis Dei (the intellectual love of God). Spinoza’s philosophy is so great that, perhaps with few exceptions, it is not viable. He proved the shortcomings of his own philosophy when he became enraged at the political murders of the Dutch influential De Witt brothers in 1672. He told eminent philosopher Gottfried Leibniz that he had planned to hang a large poster in the town square, reading “ultimi barbarorum” (extreme barbarians), but was prevented from doing so by his hostess, who locked the door on him, as she feared that Spinoza himself would be murdered![1]

Perhaps Spinoza’s Ethics is the ideal, but how immature to believe that it is attainable. How different his Ethics would have been had Spinoza married, fathered children, and understood the limitations of daily life.

Halacha is pragmatic. It has no patience for Spinoza’s Ethics and no illusions about human beings. Indeed, it expects people to extend themselves to the limit, but it acknowledges the long and difficult road between the is and the ought-to-be. And it understands all too well that the ought-to-be may never be reached in a person’s lifetime.

Judaism teaches that the Divine limits itself out of respect for the human being. It was God Who created this imperfect person. So He could not have given the Ethics of Spinoza at Sinai; only Divine, “imperfect” laws that deal with the here-and-now and offer just a taste of the ought-to-be. Judaism teaches that if the perfect is unattainable, one should at least try to reach the possible; the manageable; that which can be achieved. If we can’t do it all, let us attempt to make some improvement. If you must wage war, do it as ethically as possible. If universal vegetarianism is inconceivable, try to treat animals more humanely and slaughter them painlessly. That is doable Judaism.

True, this is not the ideal—indeed, the Torah is sometimes an embarrassment—but it’s all that God could command at Sinai. It’s not the ought-to-be Judaism, but it’s a better-than-nothing Judaism.

The great art is to make the doable Judaism, with all of its problems, as ethical as possible; and instead of despairing about its shortcomings, to live it as joyfully as we can. As Spinoza has taught us, “Joy is man’s passage from a lesser to a greater perfection”.[2] Oh, Baruch, did you forget your own insights?

Sacrifices are not part of the ought-to-be Judaism. They are far removed from the Judaism that Spinoza dreamed of. But they are a realistic representation of the doable with an eye toward the ought-to-be.

In one of his most daring statements, Maimonides maintains that sacrifices are a compromise to human weakness. The ancient world of idol worship was deeply committed to animal sacrifices. It was so ingrained in the way of life of the Jews’ ancestors that it was “impossible to go suddenly from one extreme to the other,” and “the nature of man will not allow him to suddenly discontinue everything to which he is accustomed”.[3] Therefore, God permitted the Jews to continue the sacrificial cult, but only for “His service,” and with many restrictions, the ultimate goal being that with time the Jews would be weaned from this trend of worship; from the is to the ought-to-be.

By making this and similar statements, Maimonides no doubt laid the foundations for Spinoza’s dream of an ultimate system of ethics, just as he planted the seeds of Spinoza’s pantheism. But Maimonides realized that the time had not yet come; that it was still a long road from the reality to the dream.

In contradiction to his statements in the Guide for the Perplexed, Maimonides, in his famous Mishneh Torah, speaks about the need for sacrifices even in the future Temple.[4] I believe he thus expresses his doubt that the ought-to-be Judaism will ever become a reality in this world.

Maimonides did not live in the Dutch town of Rijnsburg, in an iron tower far removed from the real world, as did Spinoza. Maimonides lived in a down-to-earth world full of human strife, problems, and pain. He was a renowned halachist, and he knew that the halachic system is one that instructs people to keep both feet on the ground while simultaneously striving for what is realistically possible.

Still, perhaps the institution of sacrifice is grounded in deep symbolism, the meaning and urgency of which escapes our modern mentality. The fact that idol worshipers made use of it in their abominable rituals doesn’t mean that it can’t be of great spiritual value when practiced on a much higher plane, something deeply ingrained in a part of the human psyche to which modern-day worshipers no longer have access. And yet, it doesn’t contradict the fact that it oughtto be different, so that even the higher dimensions of sacrifice become irrelevant. When Judaism and Spinoza’s Ethics will one day prevail, there will indeed be no need for sacrifices.

But what happened in the meantime? The Temple was destroyed and sacrificial service came to an end. Is this a step forward, or backward? When religious Jews to this day pray for the reinstatement of sacrifices, are they asking to return to the road between the is and the ought-to-be; between the dream and its realization? Or, are they praying to reinstate sacrifices as a middle stage, only to eventually get rid of them forever?

We need to ask ourselves a pertinent question: Is our aversion to sacrifices the result of our supreme spiritual sophistication, which caused us to leave the world of sacrifices behind us? Or, have we sunk so low that we aren’t even able to reach the level of idol worshipers who, however primitive we believe them to have been, possessed a higher spiritual level than some of us who call ourselves monotheists?

This question is of great urgency in a modern world that slaughtered six million Jews and continues to slaughter millions of other people. Have we surpassed the state of is and are we on our way to the ought-to-be Judaism? Or, are we on the brink of a Judaism that is not even at the stage of is but rather in a state of regression, while we convince ourselves that it is in a state of progression?[5]

[5] For a discussion about the various positions on sacrifices, see Rabbi Meir Simcha Hakohen of Dvinsk in his classic Meshech Chochma, Introduction to Vayikra. Concerning the contradictions in Maimonides’ understanding of the sacrifices, see my book Between Silence and Speech: Essays on Jewish Thought (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1995) chap. 1. See also Rabbi Eliezer Ashkenazi’s explanation, in his Ma’asei Hashem, on the frequent expression that sacrifices must be brought “with a pleasant aroma to the Lord,” which is included, with my commentary, in my first volume of Thoughts to Ponder: Daring Observations about the Jewish Tradition (NY-Jerusalem: Urim Publications, 2002) chap. 42.

Questions to Ponder from the David Cardozo Think Tank:

We suggest printing out and discussing at your Shabbat table, if you like.

1) Does the Halacha really allow for human weakness? The posek (halachic expert) can be very humane and figure out loopholes, but there are some absolutes that are pretty unforgiving. Pesach is coming up; you get kareit (a severe punishment) for eating chameits. That seems a bit harsh. And there are many cases like this.

2) Does Christianity allow for weakness? Can one argue that it was founded on the idea of Jesus dying for man’s sins – Jesus absorbing and compensating for the weakness of man?

3) Should we all become vegetarians? Strive for greatness and the ideal, or just rely on the forgiving nature of Halacha that recognizes and accepts our imperfection?

4) What about people who take on chumrot (stringencies)? Are they negating the spirit of Halacha?
Since the Torah is normally very parsimonious with its words, nothing is more surprising in Parshat Pekudei (and Vayakhel) than the great amount of detail and repetition in the divine instructions relating to the building and the architecture of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). Not even the smallest nuance is excluded, and nothing is left to human imagination. Preciseness stands out, and every pin and string is mentioned.

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About Nathan Lopes Cardozo

Rabbi Dr. Nathan Lopes Cardozo is the Founder and Dean of the David Cardozo Academy and the Bet Midrash of Avraham Avinu in Jerusalem. A sought-after lecturer on the international stage for both Jewish and non-Jewish audiences, Rabbi Cardozo is the author of 13 books and numerous articles in both English and Hebrew. He heads a Think Tank focused on finding new Halachic and philosophical approaches to dealing with the crisis of religion and identity amongst Jews and the Jewish State of Israel. Hailing from the Netherlands, Rabbi Cardozo is known for his original and often fearlessly controversial insights into Judaism. His ideas are widely debated on an international level on social media, blogs, books and other forums.

Every week I receive hundreds of emails, as well as a host of important observations on my essays, via our website, Facebook, newspaper blogs, and other media outlets. It is therefore completely impossible for me to respond – for which I apologize – but please be assured that I read every comment, which I deeply appreciate and from which I learn so much. Only in exceptional cases will I respond in a subsequent essay. My office staff will try to be more prompt in posting these remarks on our website.

Thank you very much for taking the time to share your comments with me, as well as with your fellow readers. I hope you will continue to do so.

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The David Cardozo Academy seeks to revitalize the Jewish tradition and restore the relevance of Judaism as a force of authentic, non-dogmatic Jewish religiosity in which Jews once more take pride in the divine Torah and its great moral and spiritual mission towards all of mankind.

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